Intimité
by Child of Loki
Summary: Christopher LaSalle is a strangely intimate sort of friend to have, much to the very private Meredith Brody's annoyance. When a petty officer goes missing in the swamp, will they be able to solve the case, or will their differences get in the way? Brody/LaSalle
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own **_**NCIS: New Orleans **_**or its characters…**

**Author's Note: Just some fun playing with the differing personalities of Brody and LaSalle as they become partners, friends… in the context of a missing person case.**

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_**Intimacy is the capacity to be rather weird with someone - and finding that that's ok with them. -**_**Alain de Botton**

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Exhaustion could sometimes nearly be a tangible thing. Like a heavy stone around a person's neck, or a smothering lead blanket thrown over their entire body. Or sometimes it just felt like the planet's gravity had somehow increased, doubled since the morning when she'd woken up and gotten out of bed fairly easily.

Meredith Brody groaned as she collapsed onto her makeshift bed, grateful that she'd actually managed to climb into the back of the Tahoe and put the backseats down. It had been an exhausting day, spending all morning tracing the whereabouts of a missing sailor, figuring out she'd disappeared in the Maurepas Swamp, and then spending the last ten hours with the search parties scouring the swamp for the missing 19 year old (god, she was young, and local, which had spurred the intense response). Her next shift was in three hours, and Pride had ordered both her and LaSalle to get some shut eye, the lead agent himself opting to not break before his junior agents. And utterly beat as she was, Merri didn't argue.

She balled up her jacket for a pillow and pulled the vehicle's emergency blanket, a coarse, wool affair over herself, feeling her heavy eyelids droop almost immediately shut. Until the hiss and bang of the hatchback being opened started her awake. She instinctively reached for her Glock 26, which was lying in its holster next to her head. But it was only her fellow agent.

"Jeez, LaSalle. You ever heard of knocking?"

"Sorry, Brody." His normally lively tone was notably subdued. His shoulders were a little slumped, as was his entire posture. In short, he looked as exhausted as Merri felt.

"Couldn' find 'nywhere to bunk?" she asked, her words a little slurred, because she simply didn't have the energy to fully enunciate.

He shook his head, looking rather adorable, like a shy little boy, which he was _not_ _at all_.

"C'mon," she said, scooching to one side and lifting the blanket up. "There's plen'y of room."

She yawned as he climbed up into the SUV, the expression on his weary face like that of a man scaling a cliff. He shut the hatch, removed his sidearm and jacket just as she'd done before he lied down next to her. She threw the blanket over him and then let her eyes fall closed again to attain that most wondrous of physical states... _sleep_.

Except she was startled awake once more when she felt LaSalle's body impact hers as he rolled onto his side and wrapped his arms about her waist, burying his face in her neck. Part of her thought she must be dreaming, because even Chris LaSalle, who could invade a friend's personal space without a second thought, wouldn't be _this_ presumptuous.

"Uh... LaSalle?"

"Mm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Tryin' ta get some sleep." He nuzzled her neck, gave her a little squeeze. She was much more awake, now.

"Is there a reason you can't do that from your side of the SUV?" she asked, lying there with artificial rigidity against his affectionate holding of her person. Because this really was too much. She'd noticed his penchant for intimacy with his friends, and once you were considered a 'friend' to him, all lines between him and you seemed to vanish. He drank out of your coffee cup (stealing it right out of your hands), he ate part of your lunch (sometimes more than you did if you didn't watch him), he took your pens and pencils, he invaded your personal space. And he did it all in an insufferably polite and damned affable manner. You liked him the entire time he wormed his way closer and closer to you, even though you preferred keeping a solid barrier between yourself and the rest of the world.

And now he was goddamned _cuddling_ her. Enough was enough!

"I don't like sleepin' alone," he said, showing no sign of releasing her.

"I'm sorry, but are you trying to _brag _about all of the women you bed?" She tried to find something to make her angry enough to push him off from her. But the prospect of physically resisting his seemingly platonic affection was beyond comprehension to her exhausted body.

"I don't take many women home," he said, sounding sleepy, like she were making pillow talk as they dozed off, not trying to tell him to get lost. "I probably sleep alone over 99% of the time. Don't mean I like it, though."

"But I do," she said, finding his wrist at her side and prying his hand off from her. He put it back, this time gripping her waist, rather than just resting his hand on her, as he snuggled further into her.

_Damn._

"It's already gettin' chilly," he said. And unfortunately, he was just as right about that as he was warm against her side. The sun had set a few hours ago, but they were too determined to call off the search for the night. And although it might not be _Michigan _cold, it wasn't pleasant.

She sighed. She was too damned tired for this battle to maintain her privacy.

As soon as her eyes were closed, Merri was sound asleep.

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**A/N: After I'd written most of this in my head, I realized that it's likely inspired by (a lot like) Kate and Tony's interaction in the **_**NCIS**_** episode 2x03 'Vanished' (which is my favorite one of that series).**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: This chapter was getting out of control, so I had to go back through and find a breaking point, or else it would never have ended/been updated.  
**

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_Then put your little hand in mine_

_There ain't no hill or mountain we can't climb_

Merri Brody groaned and tried to reach for her phone on the nightstand to shut the alarm off, only to discover that she was being restrained. Then the reality of her situation came flooding back. She wasn't in her bed at home. She was in the back of the Tahoe, curled up with her fellow agent, catching a few hours of sleep before they had to slog back into the swamp to continue the search for the missing petty officer.

Maybe they'd found her... But Pride would've woken them up, told them to go home and get some _real_ sleep, a big, pleased grin plastered on his face for finding the girl alive... or weary frown if it was just a body they recovered.

But as it was...

_Babe, I got you babe_

_I got you babe_

Ugh! She used to like the song, but after it daily signaling her need to crawl out of her cozy, cozy bed... it needed to end. It needed to end_ now_. But-

She squirmed, realized that she and her bedfellow had shifted position, but she was still trapped even with her being on top of the man, because he had his hands, his entire forearms really, up the back of her shirt, holding her torso down flush to his body with her own arms stuck between them, curled against his chest. Christ, he would've had to have untucked her blouse, the sly bastard. Sly bastard with those incongruously _large_ hands possessively splayed over her skin, one on her upper back, one on her lower, the tips of the fingers edging under the waistband of her pants. She'd noticed her partner's hands before, strong and a little large for a man of his stature, not freakishly so, but enough to make him seem a little puppy-like. She pretended she hadn't contemplated the old insinuation about the consistency in the size of a man's appendages.

"LaSalle," she whispered his name, not wanting to shout and have someone look into the disturbance to find her lying tangled up with her partner, _on top of him_. She squirmed again and he made a noise, somewhere between moan and growl, which she hoped meant he was waking up.

Her phone took a breath, and then began the damnable song all over again, determinedly executing the task she had set it.

"Wake up."

This time he stirred, but his hold on her only tightened as he reflexively tensed his muscles, groaning sleepily.

"Brody?"

"Yes. We're supposed to lead the next search party shift, to relieve Pride, remember?"

"Uh... yeah." His hands finally slipped out from beneath her blouse allowing her to push herself up using his chest to brace her arms, which made him groan again.

There was a little light filtering through the tinted windows from the floodlights surrounding the searchers' encampment, and she could see his dark eyes attempting to focus on her face. She leaned over him, reached for her phone, and turned the alarm off with a sigh of relief, collapsing on top of him again. His hands settled on her waist.

"Jus' five more minutes, please."

"Nope. Rise and shine, LaSalle."

"I do my shinin' anywhere but in a swamp," he said, whining pathetically into her neck as he hugged her like a toddler with a teddy bear. "This ain't natural."

"I thought you could party all night long," she teased, pushing herself up, realizing she was straddling his hips with a hot flush of embarrassment that only deepened when she felt a certain something pressing firm against her groin.

"Despite being called a search 'party', this ain't a _party_, by any stretch of the imagination." He was still holding onto her. Couldn't he tell that she could tell that he... She locked eyes with him. He didn't seem to care. He'd gotten so comfortable with her, that her knowing he was aroused didn't even seem to faze him. Well, if that's the way he wanted it...

"Really?" She said. "Because unless you've tucked your sidearm down your pants, you definitely seem interested in a certain sort of party."

He pursed his lips, looked away as he squirmed beneath her before he tugged at her waist, lifting her slightly so that she'd get off from him. Ha! She smiled to herself as she rolled onto her back for a moment, relishing the fact that she could still embarrass him when he seemed beyond having boundaries with her.

"Before ya go gettin' all sexual harassment-y on me..." he said as he found his jacket in a crumpled heap that had been jostled to the side and began straightening it out. "Ya do know that wasn't intentional... I was asleep."

"Oh, the old 'morning glory' excuse," she said with playful sarcasm.

He was already grinning as he recovered his phone and SIG. God, he was either too easy or too difficult to tease. Her frustration with the man's presumptuous intimacies was already dissipating. That damned smile of his. Even in the dim light, its effect was undeniable.

"It's a thing," he said, as she opened the hatchback and they slid out into the yet dark, extremely wee hours of the morning. She laughed as she shrugged into her jacket and zipped it up completely to her throat against the chilly air.

"Whatever you say, LaSalle." She patted his chest condescendingly before glancing around, spotting their boss and heading off to greet him. Somehow, just three hours of sleep on the hard bed of the SUV had her feeling quite refreshed.

Pride, on the other hand... Merri wasn't sure she'd ever seen the older man so run down. He always seemed filled with, if not boundless energy, a bottomless drive. And she supposed that tenacity was what was still keeping him standing. Although he seemed to be swaying a little on his feet. God, he must be tired.

"Mornin', Brody," Pride greeted her, his tone even more subdued than when LaSalle had made his pathetic puppy-eyed pleading for a place to sleep earlier that night.

"Not sure it qualifies as morning yet," She said. "But you definitely should take a break."

LaSalle came up beside her and they exchanged a concerned look. But he seemed to know the older agent a little better, for he didn't mention the worn-down state of him.

"Find anythin'?" LaSalle asked, diverting attention to the case. Merri herself was about to protest, to insist the debrief could happen later, that Pride should go lie down for awhile, but she supposed the man wouldn't do that, not until his junior agents were up to speed and prepared to take over for him, leading the search.

Pride shook his head. "Nope. Nothin' so far. And if we don't come up with anythin' soon... There's only two more areas left to be searched... it's not lookin' good for Rebecca Sisson."

"We'll handle this, King." LaSalle put a hand on his friend's shoulder, squeezed it gently. "Ya go 'n' get some rest."

"Alright, alright." Pride nodded his head in a way that more mirrored someone nodding off to sleep, and Merri wondered briefly if she and LaSalle would have to carry their boss to the SUV and tuck him in after he collapsed from exhaustion. But the stubborn man stayed standing. "Couple things you need to hear first. The deputy who's takin' over for this shift is a bit of a backwater ass. So Brody, you'll need to remain... imperturbable."

Merri raised an eyebrow at this. It was an odd instruction. Pride elucidated his suggestion.

"He doesn't care much for women employed-"

"In law enforcement?" Merri suggested.

"In a 'man's job'," LaSalle said at the same time, earning him a glare.

"What? Some people consider it men's work." She continued to glare at him, letting him dig himself deeper, putting him on the defensive. "I'm not one of 'em."

"But Deputy Morris is." Pride came to the rescue of his junior agent. "He's the type who prefers his women barefoot and pregnant. And at the moment, tempers are short. Everyone's run down."

"I can handle myself," Merri said.

"I know you can," Pride said with a grin. "I'm tryin' to save Morris a bit of hurt, though."

LaSalle laughed until he caught her glare once more, and sobered up. Well, as best he could when he found something amusing.

"What else we need ta know, King?" he asked.

"They're servin' up some grub over by the main tent. Grab some before it's gone. You'll need the fuel when you're slogging through the swamp for the next few hours."

Both LaSalle and Brody nodded, as she felt her stomach rumble its eagerness to comply with that instruction.

"Now I'm gonna go pass out for awhile. Good luck."


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Stop distracting me, Agents Brody and LaSalle with your beautifulness and your deliciously fun characters with so much potential! I need to work on my original fiction (so I can be a hermit and still pay my bills).**

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After both junior agents watched Pride walk slowly over to the vehicle and disappear inside, remaining in a respectful silence that was mostly awe for the man's grit, Merri turned to her partner.

"We should probably find this Deputy Morris and make it clear -_in the politest way possible_\- that we're calling the shots, now."

"Yup," LaSalle agreed, gently taking her arm. "But first let's get somethin' ta eat. I'm starved."

His hand slipped to the small of her back as they crossed the vehicle-equipment-personnel-strewn clearing towards the main tent. It was misting rain out, and she was not looking forward to what the remainder of the night held. And why did LaSalle seem to need to be in constant physical contact with those around him? Well, he wasn't so bad at the office, but when there were strangers around, one of his hands was often touching her in a nonchalant, non-invasive sort of way. Or he was standing so close to her, his body was a fraction of an inch from brushing against hers. Or how, even though he never interfered when shit went down and let her handle herself unless she signaled for assistance, he still seemed to just casually -probably subconsciously- place himself between her and unfamiliar persons. It was obvious he was protective of his family and friends, and she knew she should probably feel pleased that he counted her as such, but... Meredith Brody was not used to such casual intimacies.

They were, unfortunately for their stomachs, late to the party. The kind lady with graying hair scraped the bottom of the pot clean, but only managed to come up with a single portion of stew when they inquired about food.

"You eat it," LaSalle said. "I'll be alright."

She gave him a skeptical look. The man was always snacking on something, to the point where she wondered if he had blood sugar issues, or was it that his metabolism burned higher? Or he was just _LaSalle_... That seemed to be becoming more and more a valid explanation in her mind. But still...

"I did pass kindergarten," she said. "I know how to share."

"Splittin' that measly portion will only mean neither of us gets enough ta eat ta do any good."

He walked away from her before she could protest, heading for the coffee station set up on the other side of the tent. And damn, the stew, negligible serving though it may be, smelled _good_. Her stomach twisted painfully, reminding her that last time she'd eaten had been lunch over fourteen hours ago now. She took a bite, feeling guilty, but enjoying it nonetheless. It took all of her strength to refrain from scarfing it down in record time. Instead, she ate it slowly, hoping to fool her stomach into thinking it was getting enough to fuel her hiking through the muck for the next few hours.

LaSalle reappeared holding two steaming styrofoam cups. Coffee. If a complete breakfast couldn't be had, at least there was caffeine. It had better be good, black sludge, so strong a spoon would stand up in it. Merri finished the bite of stew she had raised to her lips, noticing with severe guilt the way LaSalle watched her chew the morsel and swallow. He subconsciously mirrored the action, his Adam's apple bobbing as his throat worked, before their eyes met and he hastily looked away, taking a drink of his coffee.

Oh, hell.

When he turned his head back to her she was already holding the spoon directly in front of his lips. He had no choice but to take the offered bit of beef and gravy, grinning as he chewed. He made a pleased sound as he swallowed.

"Mm... That's good," he said.

"I know, right?" Brody agreed, although she was fairly certain it was because they were just so damned hungry. His pathetically hopeful expression sealed her next act.

Scraping the bottom of the bowl with the plastic spoon, she gave him the remaining chunk of potato in another bite, watching with keen interest as he took the loaded end of the utensil into his mouth, closing his lips over he stem of the spoon so close to her fingers she found herself pondering the texture of his cupid's bow. If she just twitched the tip of her index finger, she'd find out what those exquisitely formed lips felt like... And then she froze, for someone had walked up beside them. And caught her feeding her partner like a parent with a small child... or a playful lover.

"Is that how a person earns their keep with you feds?"

Merri hastily removed the spoon from her partner's mouth, and set both it and the empty bowl on the nearest table, her cheeks feeling warmed by a blush of embarrassment. She blamed LaSalle. His stupid friendly, charming manner. It was so easy to get sucked in, before you knew it you were doing something strange, like cuddling with him in the back of the company vehicle, or feeding him stew with your own spoon, but it seemed the most normal, natural thing in the world... until someone else showed up and held a mirror to your odd little tableau, exposing the inappropriate intimacy it was considered to be by the general rules of society. Rules that had her turning absolutely crimson with shame, and a little anger.

LaSalle handed her one of the cups of coffee, and she gratefully accepted the excuse to hide her face by taking a drink, as the deputy -doubtless the one Pride warned them about- gave her the complete once over, saying, "Not that I'd blame ya for eatin' out of the company trough."

It didn't take working with the man nearly every day for a number of months to notice how the federal agent tensed beside her, his jaw clenching and his fingers twitching every so slightly as he fought not to make a fist and use it. As for Brody herself, she'd more or less promised Pride not to get into a fight with the pigheaded local LEO. Not to mention having dealt with such sexist bullshit before. Although, this asshole, looking no older than LaSalle, didn't even have the excuse of being reared in a generation when the idiots didn't know any better. Either way, Meredith Brody knew how to keep her cool. Her partner, on the other hand... She lightly touched her fingers to his tensed forearm, in what she hoped was a calming gesture. It seemed to work, for he relaxed and held out his hand.

"Special Agent Chris LaSalle," he said, shaking the Deputy's hand, as if he hadn't been itching to punch his lights out a moment earlier.

"Charlie Morris."

Merri introduced herself, leaving off her first name -because, honestly, she didn't ever want to hear it on the jerk's lips, and was admittedly a little surprised when the male chauvinist actually took her hand and shook it, with the appropriate firmness and looking her in the eye, like he'd done with her male counterpart. So maybe the deputy wasn't _so_ bad.

But neither was he the epitome of the modern man, either. He did tend to speak more to LaSalle and gave the impression that he was merely tolerating her questions when they reviewed the plan for searching the far northeastern section on their search grid. He did relent without any vocal protest to letting her manage her own wing of a dozen searchers. They would cover the land (they had other volunteers traversing the waterways in boats) in a long line, spaced about 3 yards apart, which would hopefully prevent any relevant evidence from being missed. But if they were really concerned with small bits of evidence, they would be performing this search during the day.

PO Sisson's life was the priority, however. There was no reason to believe she was anything but missing. And with missing persons, the first 48 hours were critical. No, it was best that they got the whole area covered as soon as possible. If need be, they could comb the swamp for specific evidence later (disturbing it was just a risk that needed to be taken).

They broke into their groups and prepared to head out. Brody was finishing her head count, trying to associate as many names with faces as she could, and giving the lecture about using the buddy-system like schoolchildren, because she was not going to lose another person to the wilds of Louisiana, when she felt something brush up against her back. Obviously it was another person, and there were so many accruing in the small space before heading out that she marshaled her instinct to react defensively, assuming someone had just backed into her. But then a hand delved into her jacket pocket, brushing against her side, making her jump and begin to twist around to face her accoster, but an arm wrapped around her, resting like a bar across her upper chest and stilling her as a familiar voice spoke quietly in her ear.

"Jeez, Brody. It's only me. Should know better than ta sneak up on ya, though, shouldn' I?"

She sighed in pure exasperation. _LaSalle._

"What do you want?" She grabbed the wrist of the hand that was feeling around in the _not that vast _pocket of her jacket. He released her, dipped his other hand into the other pocket and then withdrew it, along with-

"My flashlight?!"

"Mind if I borrow it? Don't know where mine's at," he said as she whirled on him. She grabbed the small Maglite, which really meant she grabbed his hand wrapped around the compact yet still heavy metal light, and wrestled with him slightly for it like a small child.

"Yes, I mind," she said. "What am I supposed to use? My phone?"

"Nah," he said. "Ya take _The Baton_."

He was already handing her the full sized, law enforcement-grade Maglite, a hefty metal club sixteen inches in length that could be used to subdue a suspect just as well as directing air traffic with its powerful beam. Hence why they nicknamed the sucker after the policing weapon. Clearly, he wasn't concerned that it would make her hand and arm tired hefting it about the swamp for several hours straight. And she wasn't sure what would be more insulting, that he thought she should have the flashlight that could also serve as a defensive weapon or if he had left her with her little pocket-sized Maglite because he thought she couldn't handle the bulk of _The Baton_.

In the end, she decided he was just trying to be polite and give her the more effective law enforcement tool, which made it difficult to scold him for sneaking up on her and slipping his hands in her pockets. Which was the entire problem with LaSalle. He did things that made you want to punch him, but always with the sweetest of intentions and most charming of temperaments that deflated your ire just before it reached critical mass.

Charming bastard.

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**A/N: Poor Brody is having some conflicting feelings she doesn't even recognize yet…**

**A/N2: I promise there (probably) will be some actual mystery/crime plot involved here at some point soon (maybe).**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: Transitional sort of chapter… Some furtherance of actual case plot.**

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The wellies were not doing their job.

Okay. That was unfair. Her rubber rain boots, which she'd had the good mind to grab on their rush out the door to mount the search party were keeping every part of her they covered perfectly dry. Why she hadn't changed into more 'traipsing through swamp' appropriate clothing, however, she had no real excuse. Her dress pants were growing quite damp around her knees, not because she'd sank into a mud hole up to her thigh or anything, more just generally mucky terrain, and damned flora deciding to transfer the moisture its leaves condensed from the air by slapping at her as she passed by, like handsy frat boys.

And this wasn't her first round. Merri had already been on two other search parties earlier on, so it felt like the layer of grime was only getting thicker and thicker. Pretty soon she would need a sharp-edged tool to scrape the spackle-like dirt off from her skin and clothes. She wanted a shower. And some food. Some hot, filling food, the kind that stuck to the walls of your stomach and physically weighed you down, so that you're only option was to lay back and sleep it off because it was just so damned heavy you couldn't move.

The refreshed sensation a few hours of sleep had initially bestowed had regrettably been short-lived, and every step she took felt like an epic battle to the death. _Death. _After all of this... Well, even without all of this personal investment, she hoped as hard as she could that they found Rebecca Sisson alive, and maybe even -_if fate was being generous today_\- uninjured.

She had seen an opossum and a couple bats (of all things!), but no sign of a missing young woman. The crunch, and splash, and sucking sound of mud clinging to people's boots filled the night air, accented by the calls of the creatures disturbed by the invasion into their home. It was almost soothing in a way... in a way that would have her falling asleep on her feet if she didn't keep moving. She just had to keep moving, keep her eyes open, and keep moving.

What if they didn't find Rebecca Sisson, dead or alive? They couldn't have been so wrong in their deductions, could they? She hadn't shown up after leave, was reported UA, her last known location Southern Louisiana, and so had popped up on their radar to look into. They'd hunted down all the leads available, scoured social media, tracked her phone. Her two friends, whom she'd spent the previous night with, said she was headed out to Maurepas when she left that morning (jeez, was it really only a day and a half ago?). They had a hit for her phone just outside of the park, when she'd received a call from one of her friends asking if she remembered where they'd left the extremely intoxicated girl's car. Rebecca had sounded perfectly normal during the conversation, indicated she was about to go for a hike in one of her favorite spots. What charm a swamp held, if any, was entirely lost on Merri Brody.

Her thoughts wandered to LaSalle, whom despite his protests about having to get up and traipse through the swamp once more, she highly suspected of likely enjoying himself in the middle of the eerie backwater forest. It was just the sort of crazy, unexpected thing she'd come to, well,_ expect _from the man. How Pride worked with him for so many years without going completely insane, she couldn't begin to guess. It definitely showed a depth of character to the older agent Merri had to respect. Hell, he tolerated her ass, too, with all of her evasiveness, reserve, and screwed up personal history.

Actually, Pride even seemed to like his team. Well, obviously... Why would he continue to work with them if he _didn't_ like them? Just for the sake that they were effective at their jobs?

Didn't seem likely. Both he and LaSalle considered each other family, and her, too, for that matter. Personally, she didn't like being that 'close' or invested in her coworkers... or anyone, really. Because that only ever led to heartache and hurt. Despite how easily it was to like the two NCIS agents, and their friends. Despite how charming-

Her walkie-talkie crackled, making her start. She couldn't remember walking the last hundred feet, she'd spaced out so badly. But surely, anything out of the ordinary would've jolted her from her reverie?

Someone called her name over the radio. It was static-laden, and hollow, but she recognized Chris LaSalle's voice. A brief bite of anxiety nipped at her, fear that he might be calling her for help, might have been injured somehow. But after she replied with 'Brody, here', he simply informed her that they'd found something.

The search was called off, the volunteers sent back to the base camp. Merri retraced their path of ingress with her group so no one got lost, before going to wake a groggy Pride, curled up like a burrowing animal beneath the thick, ugly wool blanket in the back of the Tahoe. She felt even more guilty over disturbing the -_what, maybe two hours of sleep _the man had had in the past 24, than when she'd eaten most of the stew upon LaSalle's insistence, doubtless leaving him starved. The pair were undeniably gentleman, but she didn't need them to make sacrifices on her behalf, didn't need _coddling_.

Pride looked like he could use some, though. Poor bastard.

"My turn again already?" he asked upon Merri's opening the back passenger door and patting him on the shoulder as she said his name lightly.

Her face apparently said it all, because before she could relay what LaSalle had reported, Pride's face took on its serious expression, a grim set to his mouth she'd learned to associate with his attempt at mastering an emotional reaction. And he was good at it. She had yet to see him lose his temper in an irrational manner. He seemed capable of simply feeding any anger into his drive to succeed, to pursue justice.

"She dead?" he asked.

"LaSalle found a body. Said the clothing resembled the description of Rebecca Sisson given by her friends."

Pride nodded, climbed out of the SUV, putting on his cap and zipping up his jacket, holstering his service weapon. He called Loretta, no doubt sweet-talking the coroner whose shift didn't start for another four hours into coming in earlier. It didn't take a federal investigator to recognize that the NCIS agent did not care for Dr. Robillard's techniques, or detachment bordering on callousness towards the dead. Meanwhile, Brody saw to rounding up and sending the volunteers home without giving too much away, but it was pretty clear the situation had not concluded in a happy ending.

…

It was dawn, the dark retreating into the shadows in the thickest part of the swamp, by the time they trudged back out. Dr. Wade had done her in situ evaluation before the MEs helped her pack up the dead girl's body for transport back to the morgue, and the NCIS agents took another hour examining the crime scene and surrounding area for additional evidence. It hadn't yielded much. Some random trash, cigarette butts and candy wrappers amongst other debris, which could prove useful, but just as easily not.

Merri was dead on her feet. She couldn't ever remember being so exhausted, not even pulling all-nighters during her college years, every day during finals week, before she'd smartened up and straightened out her work ethic her junior year. Maybe it was just because she was getting older... she physically just didn't have _that _much energy in her anymore, despite her strong drive.

She fell asleep in the passenger's seat, even though she had promised herself she was going to stay awake, to make sure LaSalle was good to drive back the 30 miles to New Orleans. They had both insisted over Pride's protests that he relax in the back of the Tahoe... he'd gotten the least sleep of any of them, which was proved by the fact that he actually relented to their insistence. It was obvious the man put the needs of his agents first, took care of them like they were his brood. And Merri supposed there were worse traits to have in a boss, as her heavy lids closed, the sound of his snoring and LaSalle's quietly humming a tune lulling her into unavoidable slumber.

Her head snapped up, her eyes shooting open, and she felt like she'd just closed them for a second, but the sound of the engine being turned off was apparently what had woken her.

"Home again, home again, jiggety-jog," LaSalle said, his normally chipper tone a hair sluggish, but far more animated than she knew she'd be able to muster at the moment, even though she'd apparently had a nap and he hadn't.

Merri's belly rumbled, having woken just after her brain.

"Where's the fat hog?" she asked, referring to the nursery rhyme he'd been quoting. "I think I could eat a whole pig."

LaSalle grinned his lopsided grin. "Me, too."

He lowered his voice a little.

"What should we do 'bout King?" he asked, indicating the man still snoring in the backseat. Poor man. She honestly didn't know. She could tell that LaSalle wanted to wake him as much as she did, which was not at all, but it wasn't like they could get away with carrying him from the SUV up to his room and tuck him in... even if they weren't at the frayed end of their ropes. But leaving him there seemed rude.

She shrugged helplessly.

LaSalle bit his lip as he pondered the conundrum.

Apparently, his brain was as completely spent as hers. Decisions were just not something she had the energy or capacity for at the moment. Physically, she wasn't much better off, fumbling with her seatbelt for almost a whole minute before LaSalle leaned over and unbuckled it for her, making her blush with the shame of needing assistance like she were a two year old.

"Well," she said, reaching for the door release. "I'm going to go change out of these muddy clothes and take a quick shower."

LaSalle gave her a skeptical look, which she supposed she couldn't blame him for, considering she couldn't even unfasten her own seatbelt. But did he really have to say it? She supposed his playful personality couldn't resist, even with his batteries running on empty.

"Need some help?" He seemed ashamed that he'd gone there, and quickly amended, "I mean, ya sure that's a wise idea? I don't wanna hafta drag your bare ass out so as ya don't drown when ya pass out from exhaustion."

"Thanks for the concern, LaSalle," she said sarcastically. "But I'll be fine. And there's no way I'm tracking this filth home."

She opened the heavy SUV door with a crack of its metal hinges, which seemed to startle the sleeping passenger in the back seat awake.

Well, one problem solved.

"What?!" Pride exclaimed sleepily before he blinked rapidly, realizing where he was.

"Look who's up?" Merri said, mustering a cheerful tone she didn't know she currently had in her, just to tease the man.

"Good mornin', King." LaSalle grinned at their boss, who just shook his head.

"Mornin'?" Agent Pride unfastened his seatbelt, opened his door. "I'm goin' to bed. We'll see where we're at with the case at... what time is it, anyway?"

"6:30 in the am," LaSalle said.

"How's 2pm sound to you all?"

"Like an eternity away," Merri said, knowing that before she knew it, the designated time would creep up on them, and they'd be back at the case feeling like they never left. But she was so tired at the moment that every minute she was awake felt like a year.

"Okay, then." Pride was definitely on his last leg, even his normally firm and certain tone was waning. "Go get some rest an' food in ya."

"I'm showering before I go anywhere," Merri said as they all exited the vehicle and headed for the office.

"Can't blame you there," Pride said. He turned to LaSalle, offering an alternative since Merri had just de facto claimed the shower serving what they'd styled their locker room. "You can use the one in my suite, if you want. I'm not makin' it that far."

"Nah." The younger man clapped a hand on his mentor's shoulder. "I'm gonna go see if I can't rustle us up some grub."

"Thanks for the offer, Christopher, but I think I'll pass for now."

As Merri watched Pride wander sluggishly off to find his bed, she exchanged a slightly concerned look with LaSalle. They seemed to be doing that a lot lately. But the older agent would be fine. Probably would bounce back better than she felt like she would as she contemplated the chore of showering. She scrutinized her fellow agent for a moment, until he noticed and took offense.

"What?" he asked, as he rummaged in his desk drawer and pulled out a paper menu for some sort of take-out.

"How in the hell are you not covered in muck?" The fact that only the knees of his jeans appeared muddied when her own pants were soaked up to the thighs, and she could swear there was swamp crusted in her hair, had her a little ticked off.

He shrugged. "Guess I jus' have natural finesse."

Merri scowled at him, as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and began putting in a number as he read the menu.

"What are you getting?" she asked, feeling a pang of dire interest in her stomach.

"Some soul food," he said. "An' don't get all healthsome on me, Brody. What ya need right now is some of Mama Paulette's chicken-fried steak."

She wasn't going to argue with that. "Sounds perfect."

He gave her a surprised look before apparently someone picked up on the other end of the line and he began to order what sounded to be an obscene amount of high-calorie, high-fat food. Merri would probably regret it later, but she knew would be packing away enough cholesterol to give a nutritionist a heart attack.

When she emerged from the locker room in a fresh pair of clothes and feeling marginally less grimy, LaSalle sprang up from his desk like he'd been waiting for her, grabbing his jacket and keys, taking her by the arm.

"What is it?" She asked, alarmed at being a little man-handled.

"Pride's a-sleepin'," He said in a hushed tone, then paused. "Can't ya hear him snorin'?"

A smile twitched her lips as she fought the chuckle, remembering how insulted he'd been when they'd harassed him about it several months ago after pulling an all-nighter and listening to the bear-like rumbling.

"I figured we can pick up the food on the way to either my place or yours," LaSalle continued, quietly, guiding her towards the door. "Give him some quiet time, since Patton won't be in to give us his findings on the dead girl's electronic trail 'til later, anyway."

"My place," Brody said, having no desire to be stuck in LaSalle's bachelor pad when she inevitably succumbed to exhaustion and a belly full of heavy food. She knew it was going to be lucky if she'd make to her bed to crawl in under the covers, let alone drive herself home. Besides, ever the gentleman, LaSalle insisted on driving at any rate.

Food. Rest. Maybe she'd actually be able to focus on the case later. Or on any coherent thought...

* * *

**A/N: What happened to petty officer? Will our agents be able to figure it out once they get a little R&amp;R? **


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: I was going to wait a little longer before posting this chapter, but it hit a natural cut-off point, and I didn't feel weighting it down with an additional scene.**

* * *

At first she thought it was the sound of rain that had awoken her. Which actually didn't make all that much sense, for she'd grown accustomed to the rainstorms that came off the Gulf and inundated the city. But it was water related at least. Her shower was running, the sound a little odd as it drifted from the ajar en suite door. But she had only ever heard the shower running from the inside... which brought what was probably the more pressing question to mind.

Who was showering in her bathroom?

And then she remembered. There was only one person it could be.

LaSalle.

The comfort food had been everything he'd promised. And more. Warm and full-bellied, they'd fallen asleep, heads together on the sofa. Okay, the two glasses of whiskey each likely had something to do with their quickly passing into the realm of the unconscious. And it had also been the reason why, when upon waking some hour or so later, she had extricated herself from beneath LaSalle's sleep-heavy arm, picked up the remnants of dinner-breakfast-whatever-the-hell-meal-it-was, tossed a blanket on him and left him there, sleeping on her couch.

There'd been no way she was going to let him drive home, even though he'd likely already slept off the liquor. It'd been a trying, and very long day, and her partner had obviously reached his limits, if not been pushed beyond them a little. And so she'd dragged herself off to the bedroom and gotten ready for bed, the small daily chores of brushing her teeth, washing her face and changing into pajamas had never seemed so tediously long. Finally she had flopped down onto her cozy mattress, moaning her relief into her pillow, and then fell immediately asleep.

Presently, she moaned into her pillow once more, in protest of being awake. She blamed the man in her shower. Couldn't he have just gone home to do that? Why was he using her bathroom, which due to the efficient size of the guest house she rented from Loretta Wade, was connected directly to her bedroom and was less than ten feet from where she laid her head to sleep.

Sleep.

She growled in frustration, rolled over and checked the bedside clock. It was 1:17pm. She vaguely remembered promising Pride to be in by 2pm in order to resume the investigation, which had shifted gears to a potential homicide.

Damn.

Regretfully, she threw back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her head issued a forceful complaint about her being awake and her apparent determination to stay that way. She buried her face in her hands and whined pathetically.

"Sounds like ya could use some aspirin."

LaSalle appeared in her bedroom, so freshly scrubbed his skin was glowing a little pink, which brought the question of whether there would be any hot water left for her to shower to the forefront of Merri's mind. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for her, it was quickly forgotten as she tried not stare as his mostly naked body. And it was a nicely formed body, for certain, lean and toned in just the right places. Still damp from the shower, the hair on his legs, arms and chest just as wet as that plastered to the top of his head, a darker shade of brown than when it was dry. Of their own accord her eyes traced the dark line -a happy trail, indeed- down the center of his torso to his navel and further to where the towel was slung low on his hips and-

Merri forced her eyes up to his grinning face. There was no way he didn't notice her blatantly checking him out. But that was irrelevant because...

"That's my towel," she scolded, getting to her feet.

"It was the only one I could find." He shrugged, making the muscles in his arms and chest do interesting things beneath his bare skin.

Resolutely ignoring the intriguing interplay of muscle, tendon, and skin in his body as he moved to allow her past, Merri sought out the cabinet just outside of the bathroom door, she opened the bottom, pulled a fresh towel out and glared her point up at him. His hand reflexively gripped the terrycloth where it overlapped and was tucked in on his hip, as if her anger would tear the protective layer off from him and leave him entirely vulnerable and exposed. A brief sinister thought in her head suggested she do precisely that.

His brow furrowed as he studied the neatly folded towel in her hand.

"I don't see any difference," he said, making her own face scrunch up in confused thought.

"What?" she asked, stumped.

"That one ain't any different than this one," LaSalle said, indicating the toiletries in question. She looked at him entirely perplexed. Of course they looked the same. They were a set. Why would she have towels that didn't coordinate... oh, right. The man was a bachelor, the sort whose entire concept of interior decorating was throwing up some sports memorabilia on the wall and making sure he had the largest television he could afford.

"The one you're currently wearing like Tarzan is _my towel _because I've been using it for the past three days," she said, trying not to consider the fact that something that had been rubbed all over her naked body had given his the same treatment.

He shrugged again.

"Smelt clean 'nough." And then that mischievous variety of his big grin broke out on his face. He began to unwrap the towel at his waist. "Ya want it back?"

"No," Merri said, hastily covering her eyes, for she was at the perfect level to be completely traumatized by that sight. "God, no."

He chuckled, securing the plush fabric around him once more as she rose to her feet.

Clean towel in hand, she brushed past him, catching the freshly washed scent of him, which gave her pause. It wasn't that oddly woodsy aroma she associated with the man, but something citrusy. And gingery- _wait a damned minute! _

Forgetting any sort of reservation she held about initiating such intimacies, and entering into full pissed off interrogator mode, she leaned into his shoulder, brushing her nose against the naked, fragrant skin and took a deep breath.

She stepped back to allow herself to point an accusatory finger in the man's face. "You used my facial scrub!"

LaSalle shrugged, looking uncertain but borderline apologetic in instinctive reaction to her raised tone.

"It's just supposed to be for your face." She was perhaps working up to a good rant now, but that shit wasn't cheap. "Not to wash your entire body with."

"There wa'n't any soap," he said, wincing in a manner that informed her that her own face was probably turning red she was so pissed off. It was just because she still felt grimy. And tired. She tried to reel it back in.

"And what was wrong with the bodywash, may I ask?"

"In my defense, Brody," he said, throwing up his hands. "There's a lot of bottles in there. Sorta like a pharmacy. I jus' picked the first one that wouldn't make me smell like a pretty bouquet of flowers."

"We wouldn't want that, now would we?" She stalked off into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Merri worked herself into a good hate while she showered. Deep down she knew it wasn't anything to get so worked up over. It was just face wash. It was just LaSalle being_ LaSalle_. But even deeper down, it was far more problematic. Even if fuming about it as she lathered and rinsed beneath the (thankfully still warm) spray was a way to not contemplate the image of her fellow agent's lean and fit, and mostly naked, slightly damp body... It was also a way to really ignore the reason why Chris LaSalle's casual intimacies, or Dwayne Pride's friendly concerns, bothered her so much.

She was a private person. And damn it, she had every right to be, no matter the reasons for her reserve, for not sharing her pain with others. She didn't believe on showing off gaping wounds, preferring to keep them properly covered until they turned into ugly scars that she also kept hidden from the world. Friends or not, she had the right to maintain her barriers. Just because Pride's sympathetic and entirely non-harassing manner of manipulating a 'friend' into sharing her problems was extremely effective... Just because LaSalle had a way of seeping into your daily life with a light-hearted gaiety underlain with an intense sort of compassion...

It was no reason to throw open the gates and invite everyone in for a tour of the recesses of her soul.

They needed to back off. _He _needed to back off. Needed to not charm her into sharing heavenly takeout and whiskey, into cuddling up and falling asleep on the sofa. He needed to not use her shower and toiletries without her permission. To not reprogram the stations saved on her car radio (even if she did come to enjoy a couple of them). He needed to not drink out of her water bottle and coffee mug. He needed to not crack jokes. Make her laugh. Wink at her. Smile at her. Or look at her.

Merri shut the now lukewarm water off, dried her body and hair a little aggressively, still nurturing her ire until she cracked the bathroom door to ensure the coast was clear, and smelled the heavenly aroma of fresh brewed coffee, toast and something frying.

Breakfast.

Here, the entire time she'd been convincing herself to despise the man and he'd been cooking them some food to eat before they got back to the grindstone. Her anger dissipated, pacified by the pleased anticipation of her stomach.

* * *

**A/N: Well, that got us nowhere with the case… But we'll see how Brody can handle working the case without having any real break from the presumptuous, pervasive and effusive LaSalle…**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: A little more case development… But not going to lie, mostly LaSalle and Brody whatnot…**

* * *

The sun had come out, but it only served as a reminder that half the day was already gone, and despite how well earned it had been, Agent Brody couldn't help but feel she'd slept the day away, with all of the intrinsic guilt associated with being a laze-about (as her mother would say). Never mind that she'd gone 20 hours straight without a break and barely bothering to eat. She tried to convince herself she had earned the delicious chicken-fried steak, the whiskey, the six hours of sleep in her own, lovely bed, the hot shower, the filling breakfast of coffee, toast and eggs her partner had prepared.

But for all their tireless work, they'd failed to save Petty Officer Rebecca Sisson... The least they could do was resolve her death, the circumstances that seemed to be leading toward the suspicious, if not downright malicious.

Her phone buzzed in her jacket pocket and noting that the dashboard clock read 2:13pm, she hastily pulled it out. Pride would be wondering where the rest of his team were. And just as she suspected...

"Pride?" LaSalle asked, glancing at her as he drove. She nodded, hitting 'accept' and raising the phone to her ear.

"We're on our way," she said as way of greeting, hoping to forestall any irritated questioning. Senior Agent Dwayne Pride seemed to be quite unflappable, and highly tolerant when it came to his junior agents, but Merri believed in preventative measures, and never wanted to test his patience to the extent where she'd be on the receiving end of his ire. She had a feeling that when he snapped, Pride could flay a person with words as easily as he prepared a fish to fry.

/Good./ Granted it was over a cellphone, notorious for cutting out the upper and lower tonal range, but the man didn't sound angry. /Patton says he's ready to reveal the results of his forensic electronic audit of Petty Officer Sisson. But I'm needed over at the morgue./

"Tell Patton we'll be there in five."

And Merri was either getting used to the city, or just to her partner's driving style, for she'd precisely predicted their travel time, walking through the door exactly five minutes after ending her call with Pride, ignoring how LaSalle's hand found her lower back, resting there in an absently possessive -and to her, condescending- manner. Granted, he probably didn't even realize he was doing it. But that didn't mean she had to like it. And she definitely didn't need to like how he leaned in close and sniffed her neck.

She leaned away from him, turning her head to give him the 'what the hell' glare.

"How come ya don't smell like flowers?" he asked, staring at her in that intense, evaluative manner of his.

"What?"

"All yer shampoos and whatnot smell like posies." His obviously intent interest in the way she smelled, the way he always tended to show undue curiosity about her personal life made her uncomfortable, and shifted her weight uneasily beneath his scrutiny. "But ya don't. Why 's that?"

"I don't know, LaSalle," she said, trying to shrug off the strangely intimate conversation. "Maybe there's something wrong with your nose."

"Don't think so..." He was still so close to her that she could smell his leather jacket, and tell that the woodsy scent she normally identified with the man had returned despite his use of her citrus-ginger face scrub. Apparently, it wasn't close enough for him, however, for he leaned in once more tickling the nape of her neck with his nose, attempting to get a stronger sample of her scent but giving her his full force in return. Undeniably woodsy. Chris LaSalle definitely smelled of the woods, in autumn, like cool fresh air and crisp dry leaves. How that was, when the man spent the majority of his time in a city, she didn't know. But god, it was good. She'd been missing such a scent for so many years, ever since she left her home in Northern Michigan to seek out her own independent life.

"Ya don't where perfume, do ya?" His breath was hot on her bare skin as he whispered.

"Hello-whoa!"

They both started at the interruption, LaSalle straightening as she took a quick step away from the man whose aroma had been teasing her into wanting to bury her face in his neck and just breathe him in for a while.

Patton Plame was giving them a wide-eyed look with the grin of the cat who caught the canary.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his tone slightly on the suggestive side.

"Nope," LaSalle said in tandem with Merri herself. They took another, not very subtle step apart.

"Sure," Patton said, sounding entirely unconvinced.

"What d'ya got?" LaSalle asked, shaking off the oddly intimate moment they'd been caught in the midst of and assuming his all-business attitude with little more than sending Merri an awkward look over their ex-hacker's head as he began to explain the results of his digging through Rebecca Sisson's electronic trail, calling up emails and website profiles onto the large screen.

"Rebecca Sisson was pretty vanilla, as far as internet activity goes... Spent most of her time on pinterest and facebook and the like..."

Merri was about to bail, thinking the tech brief winding down, and wondering if she might be able to glean anything new from perusing the young woman's military record again, when Patton got that smug gleam in his eye.

"But then I found something interesting..." A new window popped up on the screen. It was a profile for a dating site, _Romancing the One._

"A dating profile? That's the big news you have?" Merri couldn't prevent the sarcasm from leaking into her tone, even knowing how good Plame was, she had to wonder that after being submerged in an otherwise run-of-the-mill electronic trail, even the pretty common revelation that the dead girl was registered on a matchmaking service seemed sensational.

"Please, Agent Brody. You think I'd interrupt whatever _thing_ you two got goin' on just tell you our dead petty officer was lonely?"

The man paused to look accusingly from one NCIS agent to the other, making LaSalle's lips twitch in amusement, and Merri's face warm in embarrassment and vexation. It wasn't her fault, for god's sake. It was because of her damned partner's liberal attitude when it came to personal space (and the fact that he smelled tantalizingly good).

Seemingly having properly admonished his cohorts, Patton continued.

"Rebecca Sisson had a particularly enamored follower," he said. Another two dating sites popped up with her profile, and highlighted for their elucidation were three different variations of the same user name.

"Ya think that this harmlessbite67 was gettin a li'l stalkerish on her?" LaSalle asked.

"If you call emails that go from 'I love your pretty eyes' to 'Why won't you give me the time of day, bitch'? stalkerish, then let me think… yes!"

"Do we have a name for harmlessbite67? " Merri asked.

"Yup. Mr. Bite's real name is Anthony Dunphy. Got an address, too. You're very welcome."

"Thanks, Patton. You're a genius." LaSalle stroked his friend's ego with a grin.

"Think we better pay harmlessbite67 a visit?" Merri asked, already reaching for her cellphone to update Pride.

"I'll drive," LaSalle said, his excitement mirroring her own as they prepared to track down what seemed a good lead. Not that they even knew the true nature of the crime, but seeming as how all of the seasoned investigators' instincts were leaning towards a wrongful death scenario... They'd find out what Loretta Wade had discovered via Pride on their way...

* * *

**A/N: I think Brody needs to decide whether or not she enjoys her partner's attentions...**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note: I'm really enjoying writing this one…**

* * *

Well, that was a bust... Okay. Inaccurate word choice. Actual 'busts' were quite productive as a rule, yielding viable suspects and evidence. Instead they'd wound up knocking on a locked door to an apparently vacant house, doing a complete walk of the perimeter, finding the place sealed up tight with no sign of life. They'd promptly put a BOLO out for Anthony Dunphy's silver '05 Accord, thinking that he might've run if he'd committed Rebecca Sisson's murder -yes, Dr. Wade's autopsy had ruled the death a homicide... She'd been stabbed three times with an implement the coroner was currently trying to determine the nature of.

Agent Brody plopped down at her desk in front of a large pile of phone records that they'd requested from the base, which apparently Lieutenant Watkins had dropped off while the two NCIS agents were off on their wild goose chase. Merri looked up to see if her partner was sorry for missing the attractive Naval security officer (and to harass him about it), but apparently he hadn't been directly on his fellow agent's boot heals, which was a change for the pattern their partnership had taken on the last few days... Well, weeks or months, really. It had been a gradually increasing intimacy that she couldn't quite pinpoint the precise beginning of, and didn't especially care to dwell upon.

Pride was currently sitting at his own desk, and by the sounds of it trying to coordinate the BOLO on Anthony Dunphy. Local LEOs apparently were unclear about the threat level the man posed. 'Wanted for questioning' seemed not quite enough to cover it. But neither could they officially say 'primary murder suspect' since there was no actual evidence... yet. But perhaps these phone records would yield results. Rebecca's cell had proven fruitless when it came to the internet (and likely real-life) stalker, despite Patton Plame's giving it his most thorough of scourings.

Not one to give up, he'd gone back to the 'deep web' to discover as much information about Anthony Dunphy as possible. And since the good old leg work hadn't proven any results this time around, Merri had to admit solving the case currently lay much more within the ex-hacker's purview. Well, they could all do their part with the tedious desk work, she supposed, as she turned her attention to the inch thick stack of paper, lists upon lists of phone numbers which made calls to the base office where Rebecca Sisson served as what was basically secretary and receptionist. Merri'd begun to highlight all of the calls that didn't have a number indicating they'd originated from within the base when a shadow fell across the page, making her blink as her eyes unfocused.

She looked up to find her fellow agent hovering.

"I think these belong ta ya," LaSalle said, pulling a scrap of blue fabric out of his jacket pocket and tossing it on the desktop in front of her. At first, she was entirely clueless as to what the hell he was talking about. But then recognition struck her like a bolt of lightning striking a dead tree and she burst into flame.

"Why do you have a pair of my underwear, Chris?!"

Volume control was beyond her capacity. As was maintaining a civil tone. She'd had enough. Absolutely enough. This was beyond forgivable. Had he gone through her things when she let him stay in her home?! Maybe when she was asleep, or in the shower, pawing through her underwear drawer like some sort of perv?

"I found 'em sittin' on the passenger seat in my truck," he said, his eyes gone wide over her outburst. "I figured they fell outta your bag when I drove ya home this mornin'."

Having finished his discussion with NOPD, Pride had noticed the verbal skirmish between his agents, and approached cautiously, but his presence only fueled the ire Merri felt bubbling up uncontrollably. Now their boss was involved? And how did it sound to the older man? Her male counterpart returning her -god help her- _lace panties _that she'd left in his truck after he'd driven her home in the morning. If Pride didn't know the specifics of the circumstances leading up to the situation, she would've been downright mortified. She was embarrassed enough that the extremely racy scrap of cloth that she chose to cover her bare ass with was out in the open for everyone to see. There was a reason they were called 'intimates', that being that they weren't in point of fact meant for everyone to see. They were part of her private life, her private business, which LaSalle had no right to be in, submerged in, swimming the fucking backstroke and singing _'Sweet Home Alabama' _in...

"What's the problem?" Pride asked in his 'negotiator' tone, which Merri found she had little more tolerance for than Christopher LaSalle's face at the moment.

"Him." She seethed, pointing an accusing finger at the younger man. "I can't take it anymore! He has no boundaries, absolutely none! Just because he thinks he's the most charming thing since the Horgi!"

Pride's eyebrows shot up, in apparent shock over her losing her cool. But she was honestly beyond caring any more.

"He makes me want to scream!"

"That much is apparent, Agent Brody," the senior agent said. "Why don't you take those phone records to the conference room, and work in some peace and quiet for the rest of the day."

His tone was so unerringly reasonable that it caused her to pause a moment. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, felt the heat of the rage dissipate slightly. When she opened her eyes, she nodded once at Pride and gathered up the paperwork she'd been previously perusing, shoving the lace underwear in her pocket first.

She avoided looking directly at LaSalle, but the expression on his face was apparent even just catching it out of the corner of her eye. He looked like an overly affectionate, clumsy puppy that had just been kicked by the person it loved most in the world.

It made her feel guilty, but then she remembered how that lovable innocence was part of the charm that allowed him to get away with things he shouldn't. As she made her way upstairs with her face firmly set against being coerced into forgiveness, she overheard her partner speak in a forlorn tone he never even used when speaking about his brother's illness.

"What d' I do, King? I didn't realize I'd been pushin' her so bad."

"Just give her some space. Leave her be for the rest of the day. Then talk to her about how you can better respect her boundaries… when she's ready to talk, that is."

"I been with her every minute for the past couple days, apparently drivin' her crazy. She must hate me."

"I don't think she hates you, Christopher. Agent Brody's just a very... _private _person. And you can be a mite... _friendly_."

"Yeah... Suppose so…"

Merri let the door close behind her, already cursing herself for her outburst. How embarrassing was that, losing control of her temper just because LaSalle wanted to be her friend? _Why was she such a horrible person? _

No. She wasn't a bad person. It was just the way she was. And she had every right to be that way. Just because Chris LaSalle couldn't pick up the social cues that she didn't want him about five inches from her face every minute of the day... If his feelings had been hurt, it was his own fault.

She pulled a chair out and sat down with an audible thump at the conference table. She looked at the next phone number on the list, couldn't remember the in-house prefix, saw the hurt expression on Chris LaSalle's face in her mind's eye, threw the highlighter across the room, causing it to hit the glass with a very loud _thwunk_, and sprung back out of her chair to pace about.

This was ridiculous! Absolutely ridiculous. She'd never had a problem working with other NCIS agents before. Okay, untrue. She'd disliked a good number of them, clashed with a few of them, but had never been so distracted, so fricken_ conflicted _before, to the degree where she couldn't even focus on her work. Because she _cared_. If she simply hated the man or found him obnoxious and intolerable, then she might get in arguments with him, curse his name, but then focus on her job, get it done her way, prove her way was the right way, and end of story.

But no. LaSalle had annoyed her, she blew up at him, and now was riddled with guilt over hurting him. It was because she'd let him get too close, become entwined in her life in ways she did not desire. Distance. Some distance was the key.

If he got the message, which he apparently hadn't been receiving at all despite all the obvious signals she'd been sending (but hopefully Pride had finally translated), then maybe LaSalle would back off, and they could go back to getting along and working well with each other.

* * *

**A/N: Will they be able to go back to a professional, genial working relationship? Or have things already gone too far?**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note: Because this is currently my favorite fic to write, here's a second update this week (brought to you by bonus Saturday library internet time).**

* * *

"Agent Brody, a word."

Uh-oh. Merri blinked as if waking from a trance, which it perhaps was. She'd gone into full interrogator mode without meaning to, without realizing what she was doing. She removed the fists she'd been leaning on from the tabletop as she straightened. There was a shortly lived battle in her head over whether she should say something to the young woman currently openly crying in the ugly, sniffling, snot running from her nose and pooling on her cupid's bow, sort of way. Had she really pushed her that far? She couldn't remember what she'd said. But she must have had good reason. And good interrogators never showed weakness, changeability or regret.

Wordlessly, without even softening the expression on her face, she turned to where Pride was standing in the kitchen doorway, looking rather like the stern cop father he was. God help poor Laurel if this is what she had to face down in her adventurous, rebellious teenage years.

"Sir?" she said, knowing she would never get away with the innocent act, but also not really sure where she had gone wrong. Her instincts must have been telling her something if she'd pushed the girl like that, despite her... personal life distractions.

"How long you've been with us, and you're still trying to call me 'sir?" Obviously her respectful and subservient tone had not worked. He took her by the arm and walked her to the far end of their office space, before turning his stern, unhappy face on her once more. "What the _hell_ was that, Brody? Miss Williams is a cooperating witness, trying to assist us in building up the events preceding her friends death. She is NOT a suspect. Unless you know somethin' I don't."

He glared.

"I'm sorry, Pride," she said, letting the actual remorse she felt show. But it must have been instinct, and her subconscious. She must have seen some sign in the young woman's behavior that set her interrogator persona on the scent, sinking her teeth into the quarry and worrying it violently. But she couldn't say what that was... She'd been having an especially difficult time all day keeping her thoughts in order.

The older agent sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Are things still not right between you and Christopher?" he asked, pinning her with the 'I can spot a liar a mile away' stare.

Merri shook her head. The overly personable agent had been giving her the space she'd requested, but the knowledge that she'd hurt his feelings was a constant annoying chatter (in an oddly familiar southern accent) in the back of her mind. Not to mention, a quiet, terse Chris LaSalle was unsettling. And sad. She hadn't realized how much his affability buoyed her moods on a daily basis. But still, being on the outs with her fellow agent was no reason that she shouldn't be able to focus on her work, do her job properly. Social life problems had never interfered with her professionalism before.

"I wouldn't let that influence my job performance," she said, not wholly believing the sentiment herself. Pride did that thing were his expression was basically an eye roll without the actual rolling of the eyes. Great. He thought she was compromised simply because of a tiff with her partner. Good job, Merri, behaving like a teenage girl with high school drama and not a grown ass woman who was a federal agent.

"So you are telling me there's a reason you blew up at Miss Williams" he asked, and she couldn't tell if it was meant to be rhetorical.

"Yes... Maybe..." Oh, god, she was in such a hole. Perhaps it was because she'd missed breakfast and lunch and her blood sugar was perilously low. Perhaps it was because when she got out of the shower that morning she realized all of her towels were in the dirty clothes hamper except for the one hanging on a hook in the bathroom... one that smelled like citrus-ginger face wash and Chris LaSalle. Maybe because instead of being regaled with a tale of the agent's wild night or an Alabamian anecdote, she saw her partner's face light up, a mischievous glint in his eye as he opened his mouth to share some 'whopper' with her before he caught himself, closed his mouth, and they walked into the building together in silence, sat at their desks in tense silence for the next few hours.

"Okay, I want you to sit the rest of the interviews out," Pride said, patting her arm in a consoling manner she would've shrugged off under normal circumstances, hating being coddled in any way. "Go, check in with Patton. See what, if anything more, he's learned."

Hearing an order even in the guise of a sympathetic, gentle tone, Merri simply nodded and headed off to the private office space they set up for the computer wiz when he was in-house. And she must've looked really down, for Patton didn't make a single comment about her being banished to watch him work, a pointless job if ever there was one. Neither did he make a comment about her obviously strained relationship with Agent LaSalle.

Rather than making her feel better, the perpetual braggart's subdued and sympathetic treatment made her feel worse. At the end of the day, they'd dug up gigabytes of data on Anthony Dunphy's stalking of Rebecca Sisson, but there'd been no leads on their primary suspect's whereabouts, and the follow-up interviews, according to Pride and LaSalle, who'd conducted them without her further assistance, they hadn't yielded much of worth for tracking down the killer. None of them had seen the man before, not even a random meeting by chance, let alone in the company of their murdered friend.

LaSalle hadn't said more than ten words to her all day, returning her 'Good night' with a mumbled reply as she trudged past his desk and out the door, feeling more morose than ever, feeling like she was going to eat a whole pound of chocolate for dinner, and not the cheap stuff, maybe pick up some handmade truffles from that chocolatiers a couple streets away from her place. It was a vice she'd successfully avoided for years, the binge-consuming of chocolate, but with her mood, it was either that or watching some sappy movie and crying her eyes out like the overly sensitive woman she apparently was. Maybe she should get herself checked for a hormonal imbalance...

Excuses.

She knew the reason why she was upset, but she chose to cram it down into a deep, dark hole and backfill a mountain of sand over it, and eat the most brilliant chocolate raspberry truffles she'd ever had... Melting smooth and creamy in her mouth, with just enough raspberry flavoring to accent the rich almost bitter dark chocolate, and a slight, sweet burn of the liqueur used to flavor the confection. Perfection. So good, she promised herself not to regret the belly ache she'd get for consuming so much sugar (and nothing else) right before crawling into bed.

Much to her surprise, it wasn't an upset digestive system that woke her in the middle of the night, but a bad dream. A series of them, really. It wasn't the details that were disturbing (for they quickly faded) but the unsettling emotions that clung to her even after waking, that of loss and despair... loneliness. It was beyond unpleasant, and if Merri hadn't eaten all of the chocolate she had purchased the night before, she would've breakfasted on the delectable truffles, as well.

She needed help.

* * *

**A/N: Believe it or not, there will be progress made in the case very shortly, and some actiony bits…**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note: And now for a little outside pressure to push Merri into making decisions/confronting her feelings… Oh, and action…**

* * *

Agent Meredith Brody attempted to act her age, and not like a smug, spoiled brat that had proven her father wrong. As for Agent Pride, he was taking the 'I told you so' look that had been on her face most of the day with amazing grace.

On a whim, Merri had asked Patton to... quietly... uh... _look into _Rebecca Sisson's supposed best friend's phone records. They had yielded interesting (if not admissible in court for the questionable legality of their acquisition) results. As in, Stephanie Williams had also been in contact with Anthony 'Tony' Dunphy. Had sent him a text message that very morning, wanting to meet up with him, asking him where he was staying. And where he was staying was the hostel across the street from the parking lot that was currently serving as their staging area.

The knowledge that her instincts had been right had given her mood a much needed lift, making her confident enough that she didn't immediately force her eyes to look away when her trim partner shed his jacket, revealing a rather tight t-shirt and his lovely muscular arms as he pulled the bullet proof vest on over his head. LaSalle glanced her way and she hastily checked her Glock 26... for the second time.

Pride walked back up, already fully equipped, SIG, vest, sunglasses, game face and all.

"Motel manager can't confirm whether Dunphy's in his room," he said.

"How do ya wanna play this, King?" Chris asked, holstering his P228 at the small of his back and pulling out the shotgun he preferred for raids. In fact, he seemed a little attached to the weapon, to the point where Merri wondered if there was a specific reason for his fondness or whether he just thought it made him look badass.

Okay. It did make him look rather badass.

"His room's on the second floor, number 208. It's street side, the leftmost window. So if he _is_ in there..." Pride began to lay out their plan of attack. Merri glanced up at the window, saw the glint of sun off metal, but before she could react, LaSalle was already calling out the threat.

"Shooter!"

And then she was being tackled to the ground by the man whom just a couple days ago she'd snapped at for his invasion of her personal space. She heard the rapport of the gun shots, the echo of them off the surrounding stone and brick buildings, the sound of them impacting the body covering hers, sickening thuds that forced the air from the man's lungs in grunts. She couldn't see where the shots were coming from, but knew it was that window, which wasn't helpful, since she was pinned to the ground and unable to get her Glock up to return fire. She looked around, met Pride's alarmed yet determined gaze as he crouched against the vehicle beside them, afforded slightly better cover simply because of where he'd been standing when the gunman -presumably Dunphy- had opened fire.

Pride returned fire, but the attack seemed to have stopped. As soon as she could wriggle a hand free, which felt like an eternity, she was running it over Chris LaSalle's back. There were hot lumps where lead had impacted his vest, but it appeared that they hadn't penetrated the Kevlar. He didn't have any wounds to his abdomen, and he was stirring, his breathing alarmingly labored, interspersed with hiccupping moans, but he managed to lever himself off from her and roll over, releasing a sharp outcry as his assaulted back hit the hard pavement. With a quick glance up at the window where she'd seen the flash of sunlight off what was obviously a rifle muzzle to confirm it was now gone, Merri forced herself to her feet, crouching momentarily beside her injured comrade, the dam threatening to burst in her head, barely containing a raging river of thoughts, emotions, fears and worries. Instead she quickly checked LaSalle for further injury, found a gash through the meaty part of his bicep oozing blood where he must've been winged by yet another bullet -all superficial, he was one lucky bastard- and looked up at their boss who was standing protectively in front of them, his pistol trained on that damned window.

"Nothing critical," she said. Pride glanced over his shoulder at her, nodded.

"Get help for LaSalle. I'm goin' in, to get the bastard." And then he was off, headed towards the hostel.

Brody fumbled her cell phone out of her pocket, dialed 911, informed them that they had a 'federal agent down, nonfatal injuries, send an ambulance.' Chris LaSalle was red in the face, struggling to breathe, which could be the result of internal damage from the impact of the bullets, or just that he'd had the wind knocked out of him. Despite it feeling like an eternity, it had only likely been a minute, so Merri hoped it was simply that he hadn't recovered yet and didn't have a collapsed lung from his ribs being crushed and cracked. She reached for the Velcro securing the blessed Kevlar to his chest, but he swatted her hand away, yanking it open himself.

"Go. Help. Pride," he managed to wheeze at her. She could hear an ambulance's siren. They were only a few blocks away from the nearest hospital after all. LaSalle wasn't bleeding out. He was conscious and lucid. And he was right. Pride shouldn't be going after a suspect alone, with no knowledge of his precise location, armament or mental state.

Merri nodded, squeezed his uninjured arm, and then was hastily making her way towards the hostel. She tapped the bluetooth in her ear, announcing to Pride over their comms that she was coming in. He responded in a whisper saying he'd cleared the floor and was at the door to Dunphy's room, and that he would hold for her. The agent could be almost obsessively driven at times, but he wasn't a fool.

When they burst through the door, Merri found herself facing the damned open window, sunlight benignly filtering through, the unpaged curtains fluttering gently in a warm breeze. And clearly visible beneath the window, just on the other side of the unkempt bed, was a lumpy mass oozing blood onto the so-old-they-were-practically-historic wooden floorboards. It was a body… without a head… or much left tof one. A rifle was leaning, abandoned against the open window.

"Put the gun down," Pride said, off to her left, and seeing as there was no visible threat on her side of the room (unless the dead were rising), she turned to see Stephanie Williams, looking much like the last time Merri had seen her, artificially strawberry blonde hair disheveled, tears streaming down her cheeks, a little snot running from her nose... only she held loosely in her grip a Glock 19.

Pride was gently edging towards her, noticing the younger agent was covering his back, he holstered his gun, and hands out, tried to soothe the obviously traumatized young woman.

"It's alright. We're here to help."

"He... he was shootin' outta the window," Stephanie said. "Tryin' to kill people... I don't know. He killed Rebecca. He told me so. He was shootin' at people... so I... I shot him in the back of the head. He didn't even here me. I got so close…"

"You did what you had to do to stop him, Stephanie," Pride said, only three feet away from her now. Merri kept her entire focus on the pair, for any sign that Miss Williams might make a left turn. It didn't seem likely she'd use the weapon on either of the federal agents or herself, but one couldn't be too careful. "You stopped him. Now why don't you give me the gun?"

When his hand covered hers that held the handgun, Merri could tell the girl instantly released it, Pride barely catching it and preventing the weapon from falling to the floor. He hastily handed it back to Merri before catching the young woman herself as she threatened to fall to the floor like the firearm she'd surrendered, limp with shock.

Merri checked their blatantly dead murder suspect, his deceased state undeniable for the stillness of his body, the chasm in his face, the stench of the recently released bowel and freshly spilled blood, the spatter and large pool of blood, but confirmed by her feeling for and failing to find a pulse at his carotid.

"Dead," she silently mouthed to Pride. He nodded, still supporting the sobbing Stephanie Williams and turned towards the door to escort her out. Which meant Brody would have to stay behind to secure the scene until some uniforms and forensics people showed up. Normally, they would handle the majority of the evidence gathering themselves, but since they were sort of directly involved in the shooting... Besides it was suddenly the last thing she wanted to do, anyway, stuck in a hot room with a corpse, when all she could think about was Chris LaSalle lying on the hard pavement struggling for air, because he'd taken several bullets for her.

Why'd he have to go and do that? Granted, she knew he would've probably done it for Pride, too... Right? Well, at least tackle the man down, out of the direct line of fire. But no, he wouldn't have tried to shield the older man with his body. He would've gotten him out of the way, repositioned himself and attempted to return fire. Chris LaSalle had been trying to protect her. And the implications of that gesture were extremely dangerous.

Yet, Merri was by far more concerned about the man's immediate welfare, and it was all she could do not to pace the small room and track through the evidence, disturbing and destroying it. She practically ran down the stairs two at a time when she'd finally signed over the crime scene to the NOPD sergeant and his men and was free to leave, meeting Loretta Wade and a couple coroner's assistants wheeling a gurney into the bohemian style lobby.

"Have you heard about LaSalle?" Merri asked, not caring about the anxiety tightening her voice.

"Doesn't seem to be serious," Loretta said, directing her underlings on ahead of her as she paused to place a hand on Merri's arm. "He's with Pride."

"Pride went to the hospital?" That surprised her slightly. She knew Pride cared about Chris, but also that he knew the younger man, knew that he was tough and resilient, and that he would insist Pride stay on the scene and finish up the job.

Loretta chuckled lightly. "Nope. I believe you'll find them over there."

She pointed across the street, and Merri could see the bold letters NCIS on the black Kevlar vest her boss sported, and what appeared to be her partner, sitting in the backseat of the SUV, casually chatting with his friend. Not acceptable.

What if he had internal injuries? He could be drowning in his own blood and not even realize it until it was too late. Only later would she realize how rude it'd been of her to stalk off without uttering a word of thanks to Loretta, but Merri was too furiously fixated to notice the lapse as she marched over to her fellow agents, pushed LaSalle so that he fell backward onto the bench seat, shoved his legs inside and slammed the back passenger door of the SUV. Pride raised his eyebrows at her in surprised amusement.

"I don't care what the excuse is for sending the ambulance away without LaSalle in it," she said. "But he's going to the hospital to get checked out, even if I have to drag him kicking and screaming."

Pride only laughed, holding out the keys for her to snatch as she walked by him and around to the driver's side.

"What in the hell was that for?" Chris asked, after coughing from the exertion of pushing himself back into a sitting position.

"Buckle up." Merri turned the engine over after buckling her own seatbelt. "Or not. Either way I'm taking you to the hospital right now."

LaSalle made a whining sort of noise from the backseat, like a caged dog or a small child being taken in for their immunizations. She hit the child safety lock button, and there was a loud click as they engaged.

There was no escape.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry that the action is so brief, but you all know me with the touchy-feely obsession… (I love aftermath of violence more than the violence in stories.)**

**A/N 2: Off topic, but is a new episode only about every other week (if we're lucky) not complete torture? Or is it just me?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: I know they behaved a little stupidly in the last part, getting caught in the somewhat-open by the bad guy, but honestly their 'stealthy' in the canon never appears all that inconspicuous, and I kind of wanted to make fun of that (and also use it to my own end). **

**Anyway, onto what is probably my favorite scene in this fic… (although I honestly am loving writing every part of this one).**

Merri's entire body tensed when she heard him make a pained noise and then release his breath in a slow hiss. The doctors apparently saw fit to release the banged up agent, but his injuries couldn't just be shrugged off. Massive contusions, bruised ribs, a dozen stitches in his arm... It wasn't like her at all, but she wanted to just pull him into a big -_gentle_\- hug, stroke the back of his neck and soothe him the best she could. She'd successfully fought that urge as she watched him stiffly climb into the SUV, fight with the seatbelt, and practically fall out of the vehicle when they reached her place. She'd fed him takeout from his favorite restaurant, consisting of barbeque shrimp and cheese grits. He'd declined to use her shower, and she knew it was because he didn't think he had the energy to even bathe. And so she sat him on the edge of her bed, insisting that he would sleep there and she could take the sofa. After all, it had been her insistence that had him in her home and not his own, for the entirely selfish reason that she wouldn't sleep a wink worrying about him all night. As it was, every wheezing breath and low moan he made had her digging her nails into her palm to calm her anxiety.

"Are you alright?" she asked, not even trying to hide her alarm.

"Yeah," Chris said, a little breathless. "Jus' a back spasm. Feels like all my muscles are one big knot."

Merri could imagine that was precisely the case, considering the tissue had taken three blows with ? of force each. She might not be able to take the damaged ribs and stitched up arm away, or the pain of the bruised flesh, but she could do something about his seized muscles.

"Take off your shirt and lay flat on your stomach," she instructed, as she went to the bathroom to retrieve the menthol cream from the cupboard. Their job was rough enough on a person's body that she always kept some in stock to sooth strained muscles.

When she returned, she'd found he'd done precisely as instructed, and even when she mounted the bed and straddled his legs, he failed to crack a joke or make some charming innuendo, so she knew he was utterly exhausted. Running her hands from the nape of his neck down his back, she could feel the physical lumps of knotted muscle in various places, in addition to the overall taut state of his body. She'd have to tend to his entire back if she was going to get it to release at all, including the ever problematic (for bipedal human beings) complex of lower back muscles.

Hooking her fingers in the waistband of his sweats, she fought the blush of embarrassment as she tugged the garment down lower, exposing a couple of unexpected and adorable dimples just above the man's buttocks. She had the fleeting urge to tug them further down, to examine a fabled piece of ink with her own two eyes, but she squashed that desire quickly and left her poor abused partner covered. As for LaSalle, he didn't make any comment about the intimacy of nearly being scandalously exposed, but a pained noise escaped him again and the muscles twitched beneath the skin along the small of his back.

Applying a liberal amount of menthol cream to her hands, Merri began to rub her injured partner down, starting with the knots in his neck and shoulders and making her way slowly towards those distracting dimples. She avoided the large, vividly purple contusions where those awful bullets had struck his vest, but he still hissed and groaned when she worked at the more stubborn knots in his flesh.

By the time she was gently massaging his lower back, however, his breathing had changed, grown heavy and rhythmic, and Merri knew he'd fallen asleep. Thank god she'd insisted, and Cade had relented, to her taking Chris home with her, because she couldn't imagine performing such an intimate act as giving her partner a back rub with his brother just a room away. The noises he'd made beneath her hands... The fear that someone could walk in and catch her straddling his half-naked body... No, it was better that she could tend to Chris in complete privacy, her issues with intimacy forgotten without the prospect of being judged by others.

After thoroughly washing the menthol from her hands, now red from the therapeutic cream, Merri changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a tank top and giving in to the unwarranted desire, opted to forego the sofa and climbed into bed beside her blessedly sleeping, somewhat battered partner. She didn't think he would mind.

Merri awoke with a start to a sharp outcry and the sound of Chris LaSalle's panting breaths from the other side of the bed. Turning on the side table lamp, she sat up, finding her partner doubled over and gasping for air. Gingerly, she touched his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Merri asked, trying and failing to keep her voice even. Had the hospital missed something? Had they only given him a chest x-ray, missing some internal damage that an MRI would've picked up?

"I'm fine," he said after a moment of strained breathing. "Jus' forgot 'bout my back an' rolled over in my sleep."

She sighed quietly in relief. It wasn't pleasant knowing that he was in pain, but knowing that it was only superficial, that he would recover to his full, annoyingly ebullient self calmed her nerves.

"Here," she said, tugging at the blankets beneath him. "Get under the covers."

LaSalle was by nature quite a compliant, easy-going sort of man, and while injured he seemed entirely partial to surrendering all decision making to her. He climbed in under the blankets and sheet, lying on his side, facing her.

"Come here." She told herself it was because her brain was half asleep (which was not at all true after the disturbing wake-up call of Chris' suffering) that she gave in to the urge she'd had since that afternoon to hold the injured man. Shimmying closer to him, she took his arm and coaxed him to lean towards her, draping it across her waist and settling him against her body so that he was lying partially on top of her, resting his head upon her shoulder. Carefully, she placed her hands on his back, delicately avoiding the bruised skin. "Better?"

"Mmm." He cuddled into her, his hand kneading her side. "You didn't have ta take me in, Merri."

"What?"

"I know ya been rather sick of me," he said. "But ya don't have any obligation jus' because I got ya out of the way of them bullets. Ya woulda done the same for me."

He really thought she was taking care of him, soothing his aches, holding him in her arms out of a sense of debt? Okay. Until that moment, she'd been excusing it as such herself. But the fact was she really did care about the man, that he was one of the closest friends she'd ever had.

"You're my friend and you're hurting, Chris," she said, caressing his head and neck. "I want to take care of you."

He was making contented noises in the back of his throat as she stroked his head, like a purring housecat. And when he spoke, she could tell he was drifting off to sleep once more.

"I promise I won't use your facewash agin..."

**A/N: Just one more chapter, I think…**


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: Last chapter to what might be my favorite Cherri fic to write.**

Mm... delightful. Honestly, it was never something she actively missed. In fact, it generally was one of her least favorite aspects to being close to someone, having them invading your personal space while you were trying to sleep. But it would be an outright lie to say she hadn't woken in a blissfully contented state, warm but not too warm, wrapped up in a body that was heavy with sleep, scented with Menthol and fragrant with that natural woodsy scent, arms hugging her middle, holding her tight, hands that were a little larger and a little rougher than one would expect splayed across her naked belly beneath her tank top.

She was a little bit surprised they'd stayed touching all night, more than touching, _cuddling_. But really, why should she have been surprised that Chris LaSalle was a clinger? He possessed just the personality type for it. Not to mention the last experience she had sleeping with the man in the cold, hard back of the SUV.

Moving, and subsequently ending the embrace, was the last thing Merri wanted to do, but she was beginning to feel... There was a heat slowly creeping through her body, its source a pulling sensation deep and low in her belly. It was a shame her body was having a reaction she would not be able to entertain, for she genuinely was loving lying in Chris LaSalle's arms, being tenderly spooned. She tried not to think about the flesh that was pressed up against her back, the fingers flexing slowly against her belly and... whoa, how had she not noticed his other hand had managed to weasel its way between her thighs, was lying sandwiched a few inches above her knees but moving unerringly, almost undetectably northward. Well, that explained the heat blooming in her belly and face.

She sighed, and carefully rolled over, causing her bedfellow to stir, removing his hands as she shifted to face him. He blinked, his dark blue eyes heavily lidded with sleep. He yawned, his mouth going wide as a cat's as he sucked in a deep breath of air and then groaned as the inhalation placed stress on bruised ribs.

"Not feeling any better?" Merri asked, resisting the urge to touch him. Now that they were both awake and it was a new day, she wasn't sure exactly where they stood with one another.

"Much better for wakin' up to your pretty face."

Normally, she would give him shit for the corny line, but she was just too damned pleased that his flirtatious charm had returned.

"I'll be fine, Merri," he said, his intense blue eyes now wide awake and focused on her. "But are we gonna be? I'm honestly a mite confused findin' ya in bed with me, what with ya bein' upset by the lack of boundaries between us 'n' all."

She couldn't blame him. It was rather hypocritical to lecture the man for his failure to respect her personal space only to climb under the covers with him, even if it was just for some platonic cuddling.

"I was wrong," she said. "Oh, don't look so surprised. I'm not so uptight that I can't admit when I've made a mistake."

He chuckled quietly. "No, ya ain't. An' I know now that I was pushin' ya too hard."

"I'm not like you, Chris," she said. "I keep my emotions reeled in tight. I haven't let anyone in for a long time, not friends... not..."

He raised an eyebrow at her unfinished thought, the corner of his mouth twitching. Without comment, he placed a hand on her hip. She wasn't sure where this was going, only knew that they could never go back to the way they'd been. She either had to push him away, alienate her partner, which would eventually lead to her transferring, running away again, or she had to accept who he was, let him be her friend, a close friend, a true friend. She'd forgotten what it was like to have people in your life that you knew so well, knew all of their eccentricities, hopes and fears, that some random comment from a stranger, an advertisement on a poster, a whiff of a certain scent brought a dozen memories of them to your mind. They stayed with you always, even when you were apart. Such intimacies were a treasure, were essential to the mental health of human beings. And why should she deny herself them any longer, just because she'd lost the person in the world who was so close to her that she'd practically been an extension of her soul? Yes, she could be hurt once more. But that was a risk of living. And having had her sister, growing up together, sharing so much, it was better than never having her at all. And pushing away people meant she would never have anything close to that bond, that joy, again.

She reached out and cupped her partner's face. Personality-wise, he was like Emily in so many ways. Good-hearted, effusively affectionate, always possessing an unwavering cheerful joy, even on bad days.

"I like you, Christopher LaSalle." She felt the muscles in his cheek twitch beneath her fingers as that charming grin of his began to emerge and grow in its exponential way.

"I like ya, too, Meredith Brody," he said, fighting the smile that had already begun to curl his lips. She schooled her own happy grin, hoping she was a bit better at obfuscation than her partner, considering her specialty in interrogation. They stared at one another, pretending the confessions hadn't made them extraordinarily happy, to the point of giddiness.

"Would it be considered an unwelcome invasion of personal boundaries if I tried ta kiss ya?" he asked, still staring intently into her eyes. Now she really had to fight the pleased smile threatening to break out on her face. She took a moment, pretended to consider the question, even though the playful glint in those dark blue eyes informed her that he wasn't being fooled for an instant.

"Yes, it would," she said, still not even remotely convincing him that she was serious, especially since she'd been slowly gravitating towards him, closing the foot of space between their noses. "But I'll allow it."

He leaned in, pressed his lips against hers in a delicate first touch. It was tentative, testing, seeking. That fabled spark struck, its current flowing through her, making her nerves hum. It was bullshit, she knew, the idea that a 'spark' existed between certain people. But physical attraction, and emotional for that matter, did not in fact occur between everyone. It was a rare occurrence, and the anticipation of a first kiss with someone you already adored and were attracted to... it was electric. It was immediate and she only had a fraction of a second to wonder whether he'd felt it too, before his lips were sliding against hers and then parting, his tongue dancing over her top lip as she opened her own mouth to return the exploration.

Soon his hand migrated from her hip to her buttocks, and she was digging her fingers into the back of his neck, their bodies coming together like polarized magnets. It was amazing, and oh, how her body wanted her to continue. But it was too fast. She'd caused an incident at work, strained her relationship with her coworkers, hurt her friend's feelings, all because she couldn't cope with what had felt like an intense level of intimacy with the man currently kissing her like she was the only woman in the world -no, like she were the only important thing in the entire universe.

Also, he wasn't quite in the full bloom of health to be taking on such physical exertions, the thought of which made the tug in her belly more desperately insistent, and which led to her considering fun ways in which to satisfy her stupid carnal need and pleasure him without his having to work too hard.

No.

She couldn't. They couldn't. She liked him too damn much, so she placed her hands on his chest and gently pulled away, stealing a last few kisses before their embrace finally broke.

"I'm sorry," she said, watching him lick his lips contemplatively before he nodded soberly and looked away from her, and she realized what her apology sounded like. "That was really nice, Chris, but I can't go any further right now."

His eyes snapped back to her face, and he gave her his intense, scrutinizing gaze.

"Ya mean..." His hopeful face and puppy dog eyes were so goddamn, irresistibly adorable. She patted his cheek, ran her thumb over his kiss-swollen lips. She'd done that. It gave her a ridiculous sense of pride.

"I. Like. Kissing. You." She punctuated every word with a peck to his lips. When she pulled away, he grinned stupidly at her.

"I'm not sure where this is going," she said. "But I'm not going to over-think it. Because I like you. And I like spending time with you. But we're going to have to take it slow."

"So, no more kissin'?" He looked severely disappointed yet resolved. Because, despite her becoming annoyed by his invasion of her personal life, he was a gentleman. He simply hadn't known he was being invasive and offensive, and once she made it clear, he'd completely stopped the behavior. Only, she'd realized that hadn't been what she wanted.

"Kissing is fine."

He grinned.

"How 'bout cuddlin'?"

She grinned back at him.

"Cuddling is fine."

Now that she was no longer in denial, she admitted to herself that she absolutely _loved _the cuddling.

"How 'bout..." He grabbed her and pushed her onto her back, hovering over her, burying his face in her neck and nuzzling her violently as his hands rucked up her tank top and found her naked sides. "...ticklin'?"

God help her, she _was_ extremely ticklish. She laughed and writhed beneath him, breathless and at his mercy because she was afraid throwing him off from her would aggravate his injuries. But if he didn't stop...

"No tickling!" she choked out between gasps of laughter. "No more!"

He showed no sign of letting up, so she (as gently as she could) flipped him onto his back on the mattress beside her. He inhaled sharply and groaned.

"Chris, are you okay?" She leaned over him, which was a mistake, albeit it ultimately a pleasant one, for he had only been playing possum and pulled her down into a kiss as electric as the first.

Merri enjoyed the rest of her morning in bed cuddling, kissing and playing with her partner, her friend, reveling in how light her heart felt, how letting someone in had also freed her, how wonderful such shared intimacy was.

END

**A/N: Yay! I kept it PG… Well, PG-13, at least? Hm… How to play with these two next? Or I suppose I could take a break and leave them be… (Although I'm resisting the urge to write a Cherri version of a 1x18? episode tag. With all the LaSalle teasing Brody goodness, and her personal life angst… yum.)**


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